


Synthetic

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Ficlet, Gen, Severitus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 18:20:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5015236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has the usual check-in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Synthetic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ticia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ticia/gifts).



> A/N: Happy Birthday Tiece!! ♥
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The fire isn’t because it’s quaint and sets the mood for reading, but because the dungeons are _cold_ , and Dumbledore never seems particularly interested in fixing the draft. It’s one of the many things Severus has to bear in Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry and supreme imbalance of favour. He’s even heard the headmaster chuckle for Severus’ overdressing—many layers of thick, black fabric—which Severus always faces with a level stare: he needs his mass of sinister robes just to not freeze. 

He’s near the end of his chapter when the door of his private office opens, locked but peeling back for the one other person allowed entry. He doesn’t glance up from his book. On occasion, Dumbledore’s seen fit to bypass his privacy—infuriatingly, Hogwarts always seems to relinquish to its headmaster’s will—but he recognizes the stride of his guest. Harry plods like any lumbering teenager still coming into his body. He plops into the second armchair across from the fire, a small table laden with books and scrolls between. The chairs are turned halfway to one another, and Severus can feel Harry’s heated gaze on him. These meetings are routine enough for Severus to know that this is no emergency, and so Severus offers no greeting, endeavoring to teach Harry a lesson for rudely storming in and not even bothering to take off his shoes. He’s insolent, like his father was. 

But he’s better than his father in almost every conceivable way, if only minimally in some. Severus flips the page, ingesting the last sentence, and Harry huffs loudly, so that Severus finally looks up. 

“What has you in a foul mood now?” Severus drawls, though he’s rarely in one any better. He lives a largely joyless life. Harry has no such excuse—he comes from a house where he’s honoured and treasured, surrounded by gushing friends and the favourite of the most powerful wizard in the castle. Still, he’s young and prone to sulking.

“I don’t see why I need so many checkups.” Harry’s got his feet drawn up onto the cushion, his arms wrapping around his knees. It might be a protective position: subconscious defense for the way he grew up. Or perhaps Severus sees too much of himself and reads too far into Harry. “I’m taking all my potions.”

Snorting, Severus elaborates, “And then you’re proceeding to risk your life on the whim of a silly cup, because you can never seem to resist an opportunity for rash and foolish ‘bravery.’”

He half expects Harry to snap, yet again, that he didn’t put his name in the goblet. Instead, Harry grumbles, “I get enough of that from the Slytherins without hearing it from you, too.” When Severus lifts an eyebrow and says nothing, leaving Harry to simply think on his words, Harry retains his scowl for half a minute. Then he wilts and mutters, “Sorry.” He gets to the end of his fuse easily, and he can be a brat, but at the end of the day, he’s _good_. He looks sheepishly away, staring into the fire.

Severus draws his attention back by leaning forward. “Electronic devises are a dangerous thing in Hogwarts, especially those that you rely on to live. This tournament’s brought more magic here than you could know.” Harry glances back at him, and Severus continues, dead serious, “I can give you potions to increase the protective field in your body, yes, and you’ve been known to survive absurd circumstance, but you _need_ to be checked upon.”

“I’m not a child,” Harry mutters.

“You are a child, just one not used to what that entails: someone looking after you. Your awful relatives may have grotesquely neglected your care, but I will check every week that your pacemaker is giving you no problems until either you grow up and move to an obscure Muggle suburb with no magic to bother it or I die.”

Harry’s face scrunches up, clearly trying to resist a grin at the two extremes. He responds only, “Do you always have to be so morbid?”

It’s part of Severus’ character, so yes, but he feels no need to say it. He moves the book from his lap to the table and rises from his chair, crossing the short space over to Harry’s. He has his wand from his pocket in the blink of an eye, and he places the tip at Harry’s chest. It magnifies the sound of Harry’s regulated heartbeat. He listens to that for a moment, while Harry looks away in misplaced embarrassment. 

As usual, Severus asks, “Have you had any trouble recently?” 

Harry answers, “Well, I did have to wrestle two of my best friends from a treacherous lake full of monsters and merpeople with pitch forks. Does that count?”

“Sarcasm,” Severus notes. “You should’ve been in Slytherin.”

Harry wrinkles his nose. He never likes the reminder, but it often gives Severus amusement. Things might’ve been better, then. It might’ve taken him less time to realize that Harry isn’t just Dumbledore’s golden pawn and a replica of his father. 

When Severus lowers his wand, he asks, “You have all your potions left?”

“Yes,” Harry answers, rolling his eyes like _he’s_ the one exasperated. “I’m good until the end of the month.”

Severus nods and inclines his head towards the door. “Then you can go, before your little friends start wondering where you’ve gone off to.” They’d never guess _here_ , with an old, black-clad man in the cold of the dungeons, always sneering at the corrupted heroes they hold so dear.

Severus has to step back for Harry to clamber out of the chair. He looks, for a moment, like he’ll say something, but then he just walks back across the thick rug. When he’s holding the handle, he looks back and says, pink-cheeked, “Thanks. ...For caring.”

Severus just nods. Harry leaves and drags the door shut behind him, until Severus is again alone. He _does_ care, though he remembers life being far easier when he didn’t. Less enjoyable, perhaps, but easier.

With a sigh, he goes back to his book.


End file.
